One Little Room
by C'estMoiLiz
Summary: It's kill or be killed in revolution, and Eponine has a gun in her hands. A trio survives the barricade and, at the improvised hospital of Monsieur Gillenormand, Eponine battles infection with Enjolras - rather than her preferred Marius - there to help her. Unsurprisingly, Enjolras does not make a good nurse. E/E, M/C - AU


**_Disclaimer: I watched Les Mis at the cinema. I am not Victor Hugo. Nothing belongs to me._**

_And now good-morrow to our waking sols,_

_Which watch not one another out of fear;_

_For love all love of other sights controls,_

_And makes one little room an everywhere._

_Let us possess one world; each hath one, is one._

The first time he sees her, he notices her.

How could he not: she sticks out like a sore thumb, grubby and feminine, pulled into a man's world by the foolish Marius. The boy leads her by the hand, she looking slightly awed by the fine jackets, the drinking and smoking. There's a familiarity in the way she picks the drunken Grantaire's pocket, as if it's a simple muscle reflex inspired by the business of the cafe. When Marius introduces her absently, half-distracted already by another conversation, as Eponine Thenardier, the mystery is explained; the Thenardier's inn is long gone but its infamy remains on the mouths of travellers. Enjolras half-remembers a foggy tale his now estranged father had told him once upon a time – of a place where he had lost his glasses and a hundred other things to twitching fingers and the strangest patrons one might ever find at an Inn. She seems too soft for such a world but there's a hardness in her eyes and the set of her shoulders that tells them all what she is, through and through. A _gamine _to the bone. She steals bread from whoever has it, taking four weeks to realise the loaf left on the counter – usually bought by the soft-hearted Joly – is for her, and as many weeks again to overcome her pride and eat it.

At first she's a distraction, and an irritating one at that. The men sometimes find their eyes wandering towards her during his speeches, drawn in by a pretty eye and her skin, soft yet weathered by the sun. Enjolras can't help but see the sunken cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, there no matter how broad her smile is.

One time Grantaire has the drunken nerve to pull her onto his waist, a hand wrapped round her thigh with a bellowing laugh. When she leaps up and punches him on the nose _les Amis _see, perhaps for the first time_ ever_, Enjolras give a small laugh. Grantaire cradles a bleeding nose and Eponine stands, half-defiant, half-frozen in shock, unsure what the punishment is here for punching a _bourgeois_. Hearing Enjolras and the other men's laughter, however, she shrugs off Grantaire's groans and scampers away to find Marius.

Of course become the two become the best of friends after that – although Grantaire is always very cautious as to where he puts his hands.

After a while, he grows used to her. He would be more distracted if she _wasn't _there, to be honest. He spends as much time studying her as he does his other men – a good leader knows their army – and begins to know her. Sees the lingering looks towards the back of Marius' head, the delight of her crinkled nose when he takes her hand to help her over the uneven step in the doorway, the sorrow of her wrinkled brow when he snubs her. Accidentally, of course – Marius hasn't got it in him to be purposely cruel – but she'll try to get his attention, offer an opinion, and he will wave her away, dismissing her. So Enjolras gets used to her just _being there_, just like Marius has done – but of course he doesn't let her know it. He makes sure to send her and Grantaire a glare every now and then as they conspire in the corner, and even gives the odd eye roll if she enters at a particularly inopportune moment. It simply amuses the pair, they snickering behind their hands when he turns away – not exactly his desired effect. Grantaire is a poor influence.

So he gives her scowls and huffs and crossed, stern arms; he is a gentleman after all, and he will not have it thought that he ignores his people.

* * *

One night Marius leaves early and, to his shock, Eponine doesn't follow – in fact, barely looks his way when he announces his departure. She's taken a book off the shelf – unaware Enjolras has his eye on her, recognising it as Plato's _Republic _– and flips it open. Until this point he hadn't even known she can read, but now she borrows a pencil from Grantaire and sneaks from paper from Prouviare's pocket, and returns from the shelf with the brick of a dictionary. Each night she reads a page or so and he notes the look of surprise on Grantaire's face when the two are chattering away and she brings up a word with more syllables than the name on his wine bottle. She's no lawyer in training but he does note she takes a greater interest in his speeches after this, eyes trained quizzically on him. She'll tilt her head to the side sometimes, as if considering what he says with a mock-sincerity, and Grantaire watches her with a raised eyebrow. The cynic loves the revolutionary, of course, but he is unsure – unwilling – about losing this friend to France's rebellion. Unfortunately, they've begun to notice, the fire consumes everyone in the end. _Les Amis _are simply a knot of people who have found a bloody good distraction from their own, little lives, and if anyone needs a distraction it is Eponine.

Of course she still spends a long time fawning over bloody Marius – but it's a start. One night Enjolras is leaving early when he hears her questioning Marius over some abstract, philosophical concept, and he almost jumps in to save the boy's stumbling explanation. Really, Kant's Kingdom of Ends is not a complex concept; anyone would think the student hadn't been reading the books he'd given him. He wavers in the doorway, shooting a glance over his shoulder to see Eponine's rather frustrated expression and Marius, desperately casting for the right words. He could sit down next to her, find a book on the shelf, perhaps explain the theory of _Summon Bonum_ whilst he was there. Duty, a higher good; he quite likes Kant. Maybe she would too, if she had the right teacher.

Enjolras leaves instead.

* * *

She only ever talks with him once, and even then only for a few minutes snatched minutes at the end of the day. He and Grantaire had been having one of their usual arguments – one that had started with the drunkard teasing the stone-faced leader and escalated wildly out of control from there. It had ended with Grantaire storming out and Enjolras retreating to a table in the corner, lit with a lone candle, spreading as many sheets around him as possible. It's a deterrent, indicating he should like to work and should under no circumstances be bothered. He can _feel_ her watching him, though, amongst the awkward hum of half-conversation, _les Amis _clearly unwilling to disturb him. She has no such qualms, apparently, coming to stand over him with hands on her hips. He spots the uncertainty there; jutted chin, clenched jaw, mixed up with awkward, dancing feet. A jumble of loyalty to her friend and fear of the _marble statue_.

'He means well, you understand, _monsieur_?' She eventually starts up, voice too loud in the quiet cafe. Catching Marius' attention, the freckled face raises from the shadows and his conversation to send her a frown, knowing the stern countenance of the revolutionary too well.

'Eponine, come away from there – Enjolras is working.'

The girl wavers, torn for a moment, until Enjolras lets his pen settle and looks up to her, eyebrow quirked.

'Grantaire is a drunk and a fool. He comes here to find joy in irritating me – nothing else.'

'He –' There is a pause and, aware her loud voice is gaining attention, Eponine eventually drags out a chair and settles down next to him, irritation marked on her flurried, too-quick movements. 'He drinks and he smokes and he likes women – but he has said he will fight, yes?'

Enjolras had barely dragged his gaze away from his papers for a second and looks over his own, neatly-written words. Notes for speeches, half-drafted, never sent letters – the ones to his father are still at home, locked tight away in a drawer. Three quarters of a page to his sister that he is yet to finish, but _fully _intends to send to the girl, locked away in a finishing school in England. In all honesty, he has taken these out for an excuse to appear busy but he refuses to look away now.

'Yes,' he eventually answers archly. Nothing more.

'And why do you think that is?'

Silence. Despite her hasty whisper, the entire cafe is listening now, students turned towards Eponine as if she were making one of his own grand speeches. She has her back turned to it all and he wonders if she even knows they're there; doubtful, considering her dark, cold eyes set intensely on him alone. He allows himself a few seconds to set her features to memory. She might have been pretty in another life, and he supposes – purely objectively, of course – that when she smiles her face has a certain light to it. However Eponine, more than anything else, seems a strange juxtaposition of delicacy and a fierce strength. She is all sharp elbows and a fragile waist yet the scorn on her face at this moment is enough to take down the entire National Guard. Enjolras looks away.

'Do you think he finds joy in irritating you to the brink of death?' She snaps out, and Enjolras wonders if he has underestimated the girl. He has not seen anyone worm their way into Grantaire's heart in quite this way unless he wants to sleep with them. Or they're a bottle of wine. 'He follows you because he respects you. Looks up to you,' she murmurs, voice softer and a little kinder now. He can't help but blink, refusing to glance her way as the words dance before his eyes in the flickering candle light.

A dark-headed figure swings in through the doorway, clearing his throat until Eponine turns. Grantaire, sobered up a little, gesturing towards her – an offer to walk her home.

'_Bon soir, Monsieur_,' she murmurs at him, already standing.

By the doorway Grantaire pauses and Eponine watches him for a second before her eyes flicker to Marius.

'Enjolras.' Grantaire's voice is deep, rougher than usual, strangely gentle across the quiet cafe. The leader finally looks up, making sure to finish his sentence first – but when the dark nods towards the light, a silent apology, he gets a raised hand. _It is nothing, _it smiles in reply, shooting him a wink that speaks _mon ami._

Eponine drags her gaze away from Marius, breathing in the pair. They're all _les amis _here but there's so much love being flung around – she and her Marius, Grantaire and his Enjolras, Enjolras and his _Patria_. Marius and whatever pretty girl catches his eye. Ridiculous.

* * *

General Lamarque is dead. _General Lamarque is dead._

Christ – _Christ, Jesus Christ! _The little boy pipes up and suddenly all is chaos. This is no handing out flyers by the _Place de la Bastille_, this is no felt rosettes – this is _real _and he can't breathe, can't _think_. He _knows _he is excited, he can feel it in the pit of his stomach, but there's... _something_ else there too. Until now this could all have been called off, played off as harmless foolery of school boys. But now a cluster of eager, _young _faces are staring up at him expectantly and _bloody hell _what is he going to tell them?

They will succeed. He knows that. But he sees Eponine in the corner, crouched over the young Gavroche, scolding him and rubbing a hand through his hair and clearing grime from his face and his mind is _scattered_. She is a distraction, _always _a distraction amongst a hundred other buzzing thoughts. Eponine reminds him, for a heart-stopping second, of the reality. The pair – _brother and sister, how has he not seen it before _– _they_ are the quick and bone of the rebellion. They need France's poorest, the _abaisse _to step up, otherwise their rebellion will fail. They will fall.

'_They will rise when we call!' _He shouts over the noise, the cheers from his speech. He is confident, proud of his men, determined to succeed.

But he feels sick.

Eponine is crying – he's not sure why. Perhaps something to do with Marius' infernal love affair, his _ooh_-ing and _aah -_ing at the gleeful encouragement of Grantaire. Had she been around to see it? He hadn't noticed. Maybe it is the reunion with her little brother, who now looks up at her curiously and offers her his grubby sleeve to wipe the tears away. She laughs and his stomach drops, unfamiliarly. _Nerves_, he reassures himself.

He goes to her, a single step – perhaps to comfort her. Perhaps to scold her. The revolution is beginning, blood will be shed and this is no place for her. But someone is slapping him on the back, handing him a drink that for once he accepts – gladly, even – and when he turns again she is gone, a flash of blue coat suggesting Marius has claimed her again. Something about his Cosette – his ghost – no doubt.

He hopes she will be happy, but it is doubtful. She seems like a girl born into poverty like others are born into a family name. Oppression hangs on her shoulder blades, reminding him of his cause. His _Summum Bonum._

* * *

At the funeral he sees her walking right next to the carriage they stand upon, right next to the revolution as the people of France flood the streets. Looking down at her, Enjolras sees her gaze trained carefully on Marius, eyes squinted against the June sun, her face a knot of awe, glee and terror. Blindly he reaches down, urging her to clamber up until she can latch onto his outstretched hand, giving a small gasp as he lifts her all the way up. For the barest split of a second they are too close, both grinning, eyes latched, both breathing in France's rebellion. Then he lifts her by her waist, spinning her a little so she can settle between himself and Marius, thrusting a flag into her hand

_To the barricade. _

They hurry, and it's not until the furniture is stacked, the ground splintered with shards of wood, that he sees her again. His stomach jolts with fury – _stupid girl, stupid shadow! _– but she has a smile on her face despite the madness, and he can't help but respect that. Hanging back in the shadows for once – he the observer, she the watched, quite a role reversal – Enjolras takes in the scene around him. A gaggle of his fellow revolutionaries are gathered round in a tight knot, bickering furiously, voices hushed. Combeferre turns on Jehan, eyes rolling, and Enjolras itches to break in.

Once the argument reaches fever point and Eponine's grin – she is on the sidelines, perched on half a chair – has reached a full-blown giggle he breaks in. The boys swiftly part at his appearance, but the strange thrill of power is quelled at the sight before him. Strange, because he has never felt that rush before in all his days of leading. But_ now_ it's different; _now_ he is aware of Eponine's gaze, turned serious, on his back, Grantaire by her side with a bottle of wine in hand and a challenging leer settled on his face.

Unfortunately, he's speechless when he sees their point of contention.

A cow stands, dumbly, on the cobbles.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. He resists the urge to hit the nearest person to him until they bleed. _What the hell are we doing here? _ a voice hisses internally, cruel and sharp. _You, a group of kids and a cow, ready to overthrow the National Guard._

'We weren't sure what to do with –'

He breaks off Jehan's explanation by pulling out his gun and, in one fluid movement, shooting the cow in the head. His expression does not break as it falls to the ground.

'Do not become ridiculous,' he snaps. No one's sure what he means by that but they do know their revolutionary leader is wearing trousers frayed at the knees, boots with mismatching laces and a shirt stained by cow's blood. He looks like a child, even with the deadly cold on his face as he strides away, snapping, 'someone get rid of the bloody thing.'

As he passes, he makes sure to meet Eponine's eye and incline his head a little. She meets his stare dully and even _Grantaire _is giving him a _what-the-hell? _look. It is at this moment the cynic realises they will lose and, giving Eponine's hand a small squeeze in good bye, he goes to settle in the wine shop. Maybe he will return in the night time, to lift spirits and convert all to his religion of choice; alcoholism and Enjolras. For now, he will drink himself into a stupor and dream strange dreams.

Of course, then the chaos begins and Enjolras doesn't remember Eponine again until he sees her shot in the shoulder. He hears her, over the sound of bullets and gun fire, calling for Marius – but the younger revolutionary is long gone and Enjolras can only spare her a glance over his shoulder until his attention is needed elsewhere.

_A/N: Hey there. _

_How's it going? The idea of dealing with the cow in the barricades is inspired - though adapted - from 'At Dusk Through Narrow Streets' by unicornesque (please read, it's my favourite)._

_I'm reading the book as I write this, so if anything seems particularly ridiculous or far-fetched or ooc - it might be because it's from the brick!_

_Nothing in this chapter, however. The cow IS featured very briefly in the film. Note: 'Summum Bonum' is not the same as a 'cause', although it can be an inspiration for doing your duty (but don't tell Kant that, he'll get very confused whilst trying to explain what he ACTUALLY means. Which is... unclear to the philosophical world). _

_Please read, share and review! If you'd like to follow me on tumblr you can find me at: our-little-lives_

_Hope you enjoyed. :)_


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